Cutting dots more dots many dots more dots
sitting with scissors and mindless tv
I’ve become one with two minds, many dots,
folded paper and sharp little scissors
a mind that thinks in iambic meter
or wants to. A month full of poetry
is a daily bit by bit exercise
using any idea, built word by word.
This tug of war between fabric and words
between cloth and a keyboard, ink and thread
my pillow is a nightly comfort soft
but there’s a rub, the pile of unread books
which taunts me from the night stand, and calling
reminds me that there’s more than poems and dots.
